


Bitter Frosting

by hanaroverlord



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cooking, F/M, Frilly Cakes, Intrigue, Jealousy, Minor Character Death, Obsession, Unrequited Love, implied solavellan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanaroverlord/pseuds/hanaroverlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elora, a kitchen maid in Skyhold, takes a liking to Solas. Not realizing his involvement with the Inquisitor, she proceeds to try and win his heart, one frilly cake at a time.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A peculiar request

“You can find most of the ingredients here,” said head cook Donatien in a small pantry outside the kitchen.  

Elora looked around. Sacks upon sacks of flour lay on the floor along with a few firkins of butter, barrels of salted meat, and a big bag of barley. Skyhold was certainly much better stocked than the Singing Maiden had been, harboring many different kinds of spices and produce, some of which she’d never even seen before. She slid her hand across a flour sack while Donatien continued talking, and examined the bit that had stuck to her fingers; it was much finer and softer than the flour she was used to. A somewhat sad half-smile crept to her lips.

She remembered the last time her fingers had been dusty with flour. It was actually more than her fingers, it was her apron and half the kitchen, including the other kitchen hands in it. She thought of their joyful faces and mischievous grinning as they tried to bop each other’s cheeks with dusty hands. How they managed to make such a mess while baking pies had baffled everyone. Flissa hadn’t been too happy about it, but considering how elves were treated elsewhere, she figured they had it pretty good.

And she’d never see any of them again.

Elora quickly wiped her dusty fingers in her apron and focused on something else. It seemed like the packets of nuts had been taken off the shelves to make room for a plethora of strange looking liquor bottles. She squinted to read the label on one of them. “Ant... Antivan.. sip-sip?” she muttered to herself. It looked almost empty.

Donatien noticed her staring at the bottles. “Ah, this is lady Lavellan’s private collection, thus off-limits to anyone else. Turn to the wine cellar if you need some for cooking.”

She nodded, prompting Donatien to continue introducing the pantry. She felt a little dizzy, how should a simple tavern maid be able to cook with all these ingredients? Despite her fear, she kept nodding at Donatien’s words. Whichever strange dish she’d be ordered to make, she’d give her best to be worthy this second chance at life. There’d been so many skilful and talented cooks in Haven, who would’ve deserved this chance more than her, but who were just… unlucky. She tried not to think about it too much.

After telling her to start preparing oatbread, Donatien disappeared upstairs and Elora walked into the kitchen, where the few servants were scurrying across the room as if the fate of the world lay in a delicate balance which could be tipped by serving overcooked meat or rubbery mushrooms.

Elora gathered the necessary ingredients and, following an excessively detailed recipe Donatien had left for her, mixed them together to make the dough.

_Add 12 finely sliced dates, 3 peeled and diced apples and stir until they are evenly distributed throughout._ _  
_The apple peels and cores are to be made into apple cider vinegar. Separate instructions to follow.__

As she moved to get a jar for the vinegar, she noticed an unfamiliar cleaning servant sneak in from the back door and crouch next to an elf peeling potatoes on the floor, who she recognised as Paimen, or Pim, as he had asked everyone to call him.

They produced a lot of snickering and loud whispers, as they seemed to be gossiping. Elora tried to linger around the jar cabinet long enough to listen in, but not seem suspicious; inspecting the cleanliness of the glassware, trying to shine them with her apron and whatnot.

“Remember when they sent me to clean the rookery yesterday?” the unfamiliar servant said in a low voice, his smile turning into a mischievous grin. “Well, I saw a note on that woman’s table—”  
  
“Aand?” Pim leant towards him, impatient for the news.  
  
“She has… you’ll never believe it… pet nugs! Can you imagine?”

Pim burst out laughing, raising his hand to his mouth to try and stifle it. “What would SHE of all people do with pet nugs? Train them for espionage?”

Elora been in Skyhold long enough to know who they were talking about, but she couldn’t help but imagine nugs running around with daggers in their mouths, ready to slice enemies’ ankles at a moment’s notice.

Gossip had always been a welcome distraction; perhaps being around Pim would turn out to be fun.

She returned to the dough and let her eyes wander across the room while kneading. By the stove, fidgeting over her numerous pots, stood a young scrawny woman, Lily. She was wearing a pink faded serving dress and her hair was fixed to a tight bun. Lily tried to stir and taste the contents of all of the simmering pots simultaneously, but two hands were seemingly not enough for this task. Elora watched her struggle for a bit, but since the dough needed time to rise anyway, she decided to head over.  

“Oh… ah –no, this is not supposed to be that thick… ahh!” Lily mumbled to herself, stirring one pot with her left, and trying to taste the contents of another with her right hand.

“Do you need any help?” Elora offered.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

Elora started to back away slowly, but Lily spoke again. “Uh, wait, maybe, if you could find some thyme… and add a bit here?” she said, pointing to a small copper pot.  

Elora got the herb and started adding it to the contents of the pot, tasting it frequently. It contained milk, a plethora of other herbs, and was seasoned beautifully. Now that she thought about it, everything Lily had made smelled and looked fantastic. Elora was in awe, Lily’s cooking had such finesse, such refined flavors. And she’d done it all by herself.

“This smells wonderful, where did you learn to cook?” Elora asked her, the tasting spoon still in her mouth.

Lily didn’t turn her gaze from the pots, but Elora could see her blushing. “Oh… thank you, I… I grew up at my mistress’— uh, Miss Guillou’s house. She made me cook for her since I was little. I _had_ to be good to please her.”

She moved and tasted the mixture Elora had just added thyme to, and threw several pinches of dried elfroot leaves there as well. This was certainly high tier cooking, Elora felt she could learn a lot from her.

“Elfroot? I didn’t even know it was used in cooking! This is so interesting! I only knew about its healing and… other interesting properties.” Elora said.

“That was elfroot?? Oh no!” Lily panicked, fumbled with her spoon and tasted the mixture. She fell silent and kept staring at the pot, deep in thought, sliding her tongue back and forth across her teeth.

Elora took a spoonful, and couldn’t believe what she was tasting. “This is even better than before!”

“I… I know.” Lily said, still staring the pot, mesmerized. “I can’t believe this keeps happening.” She let out a nervous laugh and her blush deepened. She still didn’t look up, but continued talking. “You’d be surprised how much this happened at Guillou’s house. This is how I learned what many unfamiliar spices do. Although, once, I put salt instead of sugar… into her pudding, she didn’t like— oh, sorry!” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to bother you with my rambling.”

“Don’t be sorry, you’re not bothering me,” Elora said.

Lily looked up from her pots and gazed at Elora as if she was unsure if she really meant it, but a small shy smile graced her lips when she finally looked back at the stove. It made Elora wonder what kind of a mistress this Guillou lady must’ve been.

After she had helped Lily for a while, she strolled back to her station and inspected the dough. It had almost doubled in size, she’d have to bake it soon. She imagined what it would feel like to press her face into one of the loaves. The round, pillowy loaf looked so tempting. She could even shift the blame on to some divine occurrence… Andraste manifesting in a loaf of bread? Imagine the scandal.

Eyes still drilling into the loaf, she heard light footsteps enter the room.

“Hello,” a soothing voice said.

“Yes?” Lily greeted the visitor, voice uncertain, yet steady.

“You serve tea here, do you not?”

Who comes to the kitchen personally to order tea? She lifted her eyes to see the mystery tea enthusiast.

It was an elf. A bald one. She’d seen him walk around Haven before. Her fellow kitchen hands had whispered that he was an apostate, but these were all just rumors. What would the Inquisition want with an apostate anyway? She’d also heard that he and lady Lavellan had supposedly had a fight, something to do with her being an elf. But he was an elf too, how could he dislike his own kind? She unthinkingly ran a finger across her ear: still pointy. Would he dislike her too? She’d got used to the hostility, but it didn’t mean it stopped being unpleasant. Her heart began to beat a little faster as she observed the unfolding situation.

Lily seemed to be relieved by the seemingly simple request. “We do! What kind of tea would you like?”

“I have specific requirements. May I have look at your inventory?”

“Um, I… I guess most of the herbs are on these shelves,” Lily said, scurried towards the wall by the door, and started to fumble through the dried plants.

“Please, let me,” the man said, strolled beside her, and started inspecting the wares. He moved with such grace, Elora couldn’t stop staring. So couldn’t Lily, who looked at him with wide eyes, apparently shocked by not having to find the herbs herself.

After a few minutes of careful inspection, he asked “I cannot seem to find any Felandaris. Do you know if there is any in the storeroom perhaps?”

Lily started twiddling with her fingers. “Uh… I don’t think so. This is all I was told about… but, um, I could run to the garden and see if they’re growing any—”

“Please, you do not need to do that. I will simply think of a different recipe.”

“Uh, are you sure?”

“I am. You have all the other ingredients I require. First I need you to boil spindleweed for twenty five minutes—”

“I-uh wait! I’ll have to get out my notebook!” Lily scurried over to a nearby table and fumbled in its drawer. The man watched her patiently, hands clasped behind his back. Finally, she pulled out a worn notebook and headed back, gripping the pencil so tightly, her knuckles were white. Hands shaking, she scribbled the instructions down at lightning speeds, brows furrowed in concentration, mumbling aloud to herself, “Spindleweed… boil… twenty five…”

“When this is done, add exactly 15 drops of Black Lotus seed oil and a few bits of dried ghoul’s beard.” He waited for Lily to catch up and added, "Please bring it to the rotunda as soon as you finish."

The man sure had... strange requirements for tea. He also appeared to have a nice overall build… well-toned thighs… broad shoulders… a lovely jawline… lips that looked so soft... and grey eyes... which were now looking exactly at her. Her mind went completely blank, but she couldn’t look away either.

He gave a small smile as he addressed her. “Excuse me, are you the baker?”

She wasn’t technically the baker, but since she was standing next to dough with her apron and half of her face covered in flour, it was an easy assumption to make.

“Er...” she had lost any ability to form coherent speech. The man’s gaze was both gentle and demanding.

“Do you, by any chance, know how to make those little frilly Orlesian cakes they sell in Val Royeaux?”

She managed a slight nod

“If it’s no trouble, I would like to have some. If you have time.”

“I ...yes,” she managed, voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank you.” the man said and smiled the warmest of smiles she had ever seen. He left the room, but Elora kept staring at the space he had stood in, heart hammering in her chest. She was taken away by how nice this man had been, but…  
  
_Shit._

She had no idea how to make Orlesian cakes.


	2. Fade tongue

Elora started to pace back and forth in front of the table. Orlesian cakes. If you wanted to make a bartender laugh in a Fereldan tavern, you could try ordering Orlesian cakes. It was maybe the reason why she’d never had the chance to see what they actually look and taste like.

The man said he could wait, but Elora was fixated on getting the cakes done as soon as possible. She went through different recipes in her head, eyeing the various produce available in the kitchen while drumming her fingers on the table, pondering whether it would be possible to dress an apple pie or a mixed berry tart up as an elegant dessert. The man hadn’t even specified which flavors he preferred so she was at a loss.

Her eyes landed on Lily, who was delving into the tea recipe she’d written down earlier. She had to know something about the cakes.

Elora walked slowly towards her. “Lily?”

The small woman startled at the sound, looking worried and confused. “Uh, yes?”

“I was wondering, have you ever made frilly Orlesian cakes?”

“Yes, of course! Miss Guillou was so fond of them. I had to make some for every event she hosted, and was sometimes even allowed to eat the leftovers!” Lily answered, getting visibly excited by the memory, and added, “Uh, sorry, I’m rambling again...”

 “Don’t worry, it’s fine. What… what was her favorite cake?”

“Her favorite? Um, Par Vollen citrus cake with edible gold leaves.” She tilted her head, furrowing her brow, “Why do you ask?”

Elora blushed and couldn’t quite meet her stare.

“I thought I’d ask you for some… Orlesian cake tips.”

Lily blinked, confused “Tips?”

“Yes, you know… what the cakes… you know, look like?”

Lily stared at her. “Are you planning to make the citrus cake? Because I haven’t seen gold leaves around and—“

“No, gods, no, not the golden citrus cake. Just… some general tips.”

Lily blinked. “You… you don’t know how to make a frilly cake?”

Elora looked at the floor, ashamed. “No. But I promised to make some for that gentleman who came by a moment ago.”

“Uh, alright… you _have_ made a cake before, right? It would be very difficult if you have no experience with pastry—”

“Oh, I have made cakes before, just not… Orlesian ones. Maybe if you described the cakes and tasted them later, I could somehow not create a disaster?”

This seemed to soothe her a little. “Alright, um, I don’t know where to start, er, what did he order exactly?”

“Orlesian cakes.”

“Yes, but what kind?”

“He didn’t specify, I guess any would do?”

“That’s… I’ll start with the basics then. Traditional Orlesian cakes are usually covered with either buttercream or whipped cream, but I’ve also made ones with cream cheese that didn’t turn out too terrible. Modern versions tend to include more cream than cake base, but are still very delicate...” she trailed off, lost in a memory.

“And that’s it? What about the flavors?”

“Oh, yes, um, traditionally the cakes are very sweet, you could try strawberry at first, that never fails. At high society parties they also serve more experimental cakes with bold and unusual ingredients... deep mushroom and anise come to mind, uh, DON’T use those, at least not on your first try!“

“Maker forbid, deep mushroom in a cake?”

Lily giggled. “I guess you still have a thing or two to learn about Orlais.”

By Lily’s description, Orlesian cakes seemed surprisingly simple. Just slap some whipped cream and strawberries onto a cake base. Easy.

She gathered wheat flour, butter, milk, sugar, baking powder, and stared at the ingredients for a moment, chewing her lip. She made the dough, rolled it into a circle and cut it into small round wedges.

She’d just closed the oven door, when a young man barged into the kitchen, threw his backpack into the corner, and looked around, familiarizing himself with the room. Calm eyes peering from behind slightly outgrown black hair, a faint smirk on his face. Everyone glared at him.

Noticing the stare, he introduced himself. “My name is Therion and I’ve come here to help the Inquisition,” he said in a calm low voice, pacing slowly across the floor. “I’ll be joining the kitchen as the first assistant to the head cook.”

“Hah, Therion! That’s a funny name for a human!” Pim blurted from the corner.

The man turned to him, his voice still calm and the smirk never really leaving his face. “You’ve got a funny face for an elf, but you don’t hear me blab about it.” He walked slowly to the nearest shelf, observed its contents and added, “Call me Tom.”

Angry footsteps sounded from the hallway, followed by yelling “Therion? Therion?” Judging by the sound it seemed to be a very frustrated Donatien.

He entered the kitchen shortly after. “Therion! What did I tell you about wandering off? DON’T!”

“Well I found the kitchen, didn’t I?”

“I haven’t even shown you half of the cellars!”

“I’m fairly sure I can manage without the tour.”

She was expecting the cook to start yelling at Tom for his misbehavior, but instead he just sighed, and presented him with a small note.

“Some Fereldan noble desires lamb stew made exactly the way he wants it. He wrote down some instructions.” Donatien glanced at the notes, “Good luck with that,” and strolled towards the exit. He halted just before reaching the door and added “And Therion? Get your dirty bag to the living quarters, the kitchen is no place for your personal crap.” With that he disappeared into the hallway.

The cake base seemed to be ready. Opening the oven door blew a gush of heat to her face, filling the kitchen with the smell of fresh pastry. She covered them with a generous buttercream coating and whole strawberries, which made the cakes just about the prettiest sweets she’d ever made. She walked over to Lily with a victorious stride. “I finished the cakes! Do you have a moment?”

Lily was adding bits of dried herbs to a boiling mixture, which seemed to be the tea the lovely gentleman had ordered earlier. “One moment,” she said, pouring the liquid into a small teapot. When she turned around, her eyes widened. “Uh... are those it?”

“Er, yes?”

Lily grabbed one cake and took a small bite. “It’s definitely very sweet,” she said as she chewed the treat carefully. “The consistency of the buttercream is nice, goes well with the strawberries.”

“So, are they any good, can I take them upstairs?”

Lily avoided looking her in eye. “Uh, I think they are certainly nice cakes a-and very sweet—”

Out of nowhere, Tom grabbed one of the cakes and shoved it into his mouth. He started to laugh, the sound muffled by a mouthful of pastry. “Is that what Fereldans call an Orlesian cake?” he said as he walked towards his own workstation. “I’d understand if you were Dalish, but a city elf and so oblivious… Don’t think your gorgeous freckles will excuse you from presenting decent food.”

The unexpected comment made Elora’s cheeks flush. She caught Lily’s gaze, which was almost apologetic. “Lily?”

“They are… rather Fereldan, yes.” She was looking at her feet now, clearly not used to giving criticism.

Tom added, never turning to look at her, “You can frill up scones as much as you want, but they’ll never become Orlesian cakes.”

Lily tried to smooth the situation, “Ther— Tom is right, scones would never work. Also, the buttercream must cover the whole cake evenly and not, er... trip all over the plate...” She lifted the teapot off the table. “Um, try making a sponge cake with several layers of filling, that’ll turn out fine I’m sure!”

“Add embrium extract to the frosting if you’re feeling extra adventurous,” Tom’s voice echoed from the distance.

“That’s… a surprisingly good tip,” Lily said as she stared at the man.

Tom was still standing with his back at them, but Elora just knew he was smirking again.

Lily left to take the tea upstairs, and Elora shoved all the frilly scones into a box, mumbling to herself, “Why did I even accept the task, I should’ve just told him I don’t know anything about Orlesian cuisine.”

With a heavy heart she went back to her corner of the table and started working on a new batch of dough. 

By the time Lily returned, Elora had already finished the dough (with some help from Tom) and was preparing the embrium-flavored buttercream. He’d been right, embrium paired marvelously with the sweet frosting, and it was hard to stop herself from eating it all by herself.

Lily stared at the wall in front of her, mindlessly stirring something in a pot. Suddenly she asked, “What’s fade tongue?”

“Fade tongue?” Elora didn’t quite get it. It seemed nobody did, because all eyes were on Lily all of a sudden, all of them confused.

“Well I… I heard the Inquisitor say it to Messere Solas and wanted to know what it means.”

Tom’s perpetual smirk widened. “Why didn’t you ask her yourself?”

“I… It wouldn’t have been appropriate. I shouldn’t have even heard it.”

Pim perked up, “So you were eavesdropping? What else did you hear??”

“No! I would never do anything like that!” Lily’s cheeks were turning redder and redder. “I was on my way with the tea, but heard voices coming from the rotunda… I didn’t want to interrupt them either... so I just stood under the archway until they were finished talking.”

“Wait, Solas is the man who ordered tea and cakes earlier?” Elora said, feeling a little giddy.

“Yes... I didn’t spy on him, I swear!”

Elora did a poor job with hiding her smile.

“But what else did you hear?” Pim was determined to squeeze every potential bit of gossip out of her.

“I didn’t really hear that much, Lady Lavellan said something about starting with tongue, but Solas denied it? Then I precisely remember how she said,” Lily cleared her throat, attempting to impersonate the Inquisitor, “Oh, does it not count if it’s only fade tongue?”

The room fell silent.

“Maybe it’s a weird type of language? Spoken only in the fade?” Tom offered.

“Or!” Pim exclaimed, “Or it’s a giant tongue monster, who came out of a rift!”

“I don’t know, they didn’t seem to be talking about work,” Lily said as she stared into the distance.

Pim tried again, “Maybe the mark has spread to the Inquisitor’s tongue!”

“I’m not sure, I think her mouth should’ve been glowing then, but it seemed fine to me.”

The disappointed elf sat back down. “Listen more carefully next time, I don’t want the rumor of Cullen and what’s-his-name to be the highlight of my week.”

Elora hadn’t heard that one before. “Cullen and ‘what’s-his name’?”

“Some of the yard workers have seen the soldier… what’s his name… ah, Jim! They have seen Jim follow Cullen around everywhere. And he supposedly keeps staring at him all the time!”

“Are you sure? I always thought Cullen liked ladies.”

Pim shrugged. “I thought so too, but the yard folk have eyes everywhere. Keep your own eyes open too.”

Elora smiled at him. “I will.”

The rest of the evening went by in a rather contemplative silence. Elora had finally finished the cakes, getting help from Lily with decorating. It really was a team effort.

Finally satisfied with the result, she set out to the rotunda with the tray of cakes.

It was already getting late so the hallway was dim and empty. Her heart started beating faster with each step that took her closer to her destination. Walking slowly into the round room, she was greeted by soft light and the faint cawing of ravens. The library towering above seemed to have quite a few visitors despite the late hour.

There he was, standing in front of a massive painting, which covered a large portion of the wall, inspecting it, deep in thought. The mural had certainly not been in the rotunda when she’d first toured the fortress. The torchlight dancing on the walls made the images come alive, its details and colors were absolutely captivating; she felt it was the most magnificent piece of art she’d seen during her measly existence.

“Hello?”

Her attention snapped back to the man, who was now staring at her, his eyebrow raised.

“Uh, hello, I finished the Orlesian cakes, as you asked.”

His gaze drifted onto the cake platter and the corner of his mouth turned upward. “Thank you. I did not realize you would make them so soon,” the man said as he walked slowly towards her, the half-smile still gracing his face, “I was under the impression the servants had an enormous workload.”

Elora had to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like an idiot at his lovely smile. “Well, I had some free time between tasks,” she said and placed the platter on the edge of his table, trying not to mess up any of his papers. She noticed designs that resembled the murals on the wall, only with a few additional tea stains. “Did you paint this?” she asked, pointing at the wall.

“I did.”

“It’s very beautiful.”

“I am glad you enjoy it. There are too few in this world who appreciate the art.”

She smiled, not knowing what else to say. The silence was beginning to reach the point of becoming awkward.

“Um, I hope you’ll enjoy the cakes,” she said and backed a few steps towards the door. Noticing the teapot on his table, she asked “Can I take this back to the kitchen?”

“Ah, yes, if you don’t mind. And thank you again for the cakes.”

“Uh, hah, any time,” Elora stammered and felt her ears turn warm.

She took the pot and started walking towards the exit. Judging by the weight, it was probably completely empty. Solas must really like his tea.

Back in the kitchen she was greeted by Tom cursing by his workstation. “‘Sautée the meat in pine-needle-infused oil’? This is ridiculous!” and a very noticeable smell of bread.

Elora ran to the oven and took the breads out. Their crust was way past golden brown, but hadn’t exactly turned into coal yet, and their texture was a little brick-like. She felt bad, but figured Donatien would serve them despite their… shortcomings. She already wished Andraste’s face had manifested in the bread; that would’ve taken some attention away from its flaws.

She sat down on a chair by the table, and rested her head on her hand. It wasn’t even that late yet, but she wanted nothing more than to crawl into her bedroll and not get out for days.

She observed Tom, who was becoming more agitated with each passing moment. “Where am I supposed to find three different kinds of parsley??”

“Making a late dinner for the noble, Tom?” Elora asked, blinking sleepily.

“If that upstart thinks I’m making him _that_ , he is gravely mistaken. He’s getting a classic stew,” he said and threw the little note on the table.

“Wouldn’t that get you in trouble? What if he won’t eat it?”

“You know what, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”

Elora giggled, and said, “If you’re already changing the recipe, you should consider adding a healthy amount of elfroot too.”

Tom gave her a curious look. “That’s not such a bad idea,” he replied, and winked at her.

Elora started to imagine what a noble would do under elfroot’s influence, but her thoughts drifted back to Solas. She remembered the smoothness of his voice, his well-toned frame, how his sweater was just a little loose and wrinkled around his stomach…

She was suddenly alarmed by how much she’d been thinking about him.

 

After they’d cleaned most of the kitchen, Elora, Lily and Pim left for the night, leaving Tom to finish the stew. They walked out of the back door, the chilly air pinching their skin, and turning their breath into soft fog. The sun had already begun to set behind the mountains, painting the sky with red and yellow streaks.

As they walked past the fortress, Elora looked up at the round tower, both thrilled and afraid at the thought of Solas eating the cakes she’d made.

“I wish we didn’t have to stay above the quartermaster’s chamber,” Pim mumbled, holding hands deep in his pockets.

Elora looked back at him and said, “We should be grateful we get to sleep under a roof at all.”

“But he farts in his sleep!”

“Well, so do you!”

This made Lily giggle, “We should really stop serving beans to ser Morris.”

When they reached their destination, their discussion was interrupted by quartermaster Morris. “Elora! A note for you.”

A note? She grasped the piece of paper tightly in her fist and ran upstairs to her bedroll.

_The cakes you made were excellent, embrium was a nice touch. I would request another set if you found yourself with nothing better to do._

_Solas_

Her shoulders relaxed. She read the note again and again, to make sure she hadn’t misread anything. “He liked the cakes...” she sighed.

Elora lay down on her bedroll, her eyes drifting shut, passages from the note echoing in her mind, excited about the prospect of cooking for him again.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face and the note crumpled in her palm.


	3. Grief

Elora closed her eyes and tilted back her head to revel in the brisk wind that brushed her body and raised her skin, enjoying a brief break from the kitchen heat. The damp grass between her bare toes tickled. The elder of the alienage had always advised the kids to walk in the morning dew to prevent cracked heels, and she was yet to break the habit.

Her attention shifted to a sudden commotion sounding from the gates; she smiled and felt her heart begin to beat faster in anticipation.

The portcullis was raised, and the Inquisitor marched in with her company.

The rotunda had been empty for over a month, and yet, every time she’d passed the round room, baked a pie or boiled herbs for tea, she’d been reminded of Solas’ voice, his smile, the oddly enthralling way he walked…

And now the wait was almost over.

Elora bit her lip to tame the smile that threatened to widen into an ungodly grin.

She saw Lady Lavellan drag her feet up the main stairs, her pace unhurried and a little lifeless, while Dorian and Bull stopped at the gate to hand sacks of loot to the quartermaster. A small figure, probably Dagna, jumped excitedly around the goods.

But the one she’d been waiting for was nowhere to be seen.

The sound of the kitchen door slam open echoed from upstairs. “Begin preparing the feast!” Donatien roared, which sent a flock of ravens flying from the kitchen roof.

She had no choice but to run back. Solas would probably catch up with the others soon, she thought.

The menu for the party’s return had been set weeks ago: honeyed nug with buttered turnips, mixed greens salad, an assortment of meats and cheeses, apple pie, and spiced wine. There was always spiced wine. This of course meant that, luckily for the servants, there was always some left over…

Tom and Pim emerged from the cellar in a short time, Pim waddling under an armful of turnips, and Tom carrying fresh nugs, which he placed on the central table.

Elora joined Tom in deboning the nugs. Glancing at him, she saw how his nimble hands wielded the knife with precision and grace, cutting through the meat like butter, while she was struggling to keep it looking presentable. Removing bones hadn’t really been a priority in the simple taverns she’d worked for in the past.

“I don’t think the recipe calls for minced nug, Elora,” Tom said without even turning his head.

Her eyes shot up to his face; the corner of his mouth was raised in a sly, infuriating smile. He was always so pleased with himself.

She returned to the task at hand, attempting to cut the meat as neatly as possible. “Oh? When’s the last time you read a recipe?”

“The last time you used a knife, apparently.”

She hit the back of his hand with hers, shaking her head and suppressing a smile. “Why won’t you teach me then, oh great chef?”

“Alright. Try this for a start,” he said, and handed her the knife he’d been using.

The handle was still pleasantly warm from his grasp, and the blade cut through the flesh splendidly, leaving behind a much cleaner and prettier piece of meat. It wasn’t perfect, but definitely better.

She felt like an idiot. Tom, of course, looked smug, as usual.

“You know you’re supposed to sharpen your knives, yes?”

“I am? I thought this was the knife fairy’s job.” She continued working. “And you’re not getting this one back.”

Tom took a second knife from the drawer for himself, not even bothering to hide his smirk.

 

During the next few hours, the delicious smell of roast nug and honey took over the kitchen. Elora hoped there would be leftovers from the feast, because she really, really wished she could eat this, and she had a hunch, that Solas would probably enjoy it as well. Although he didn’t eat much, a sweet scent like this just couldn’t be ignored.

When the meals were finished and arranged on big silver trays. Tom inspected everything they’d put up, stopping next to the turnips Pim had been preparing.

“That’s all of it?” He raised his eyebrow.

Pim nodded and shrugged, hands deep in his trouser pockets.

Tom’s brows furrowed. “There should be three times as much.”

“Well, you know, I tried, but some of the turnips disappeared,” Pim said, shrugging again.

Tom was not impressed. “The turnips… disappeared?”

“Yes, I was just talking to a boy, I don’t remember who he was by the way, so don’t even ask, but he left at one point, and the turnips were suddenly missing too. I think he stole them.”

Tom leaned against the table, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “Just… get new turnips from the basement and make another portion. Pray they don’t want seconds too soon.”

Pim’s eyes and mouth opened wide as he was struck by an idea. “Or… I make those turnips so bad, nobody will want seconds!”

“And have Donatien skin you alive? Your choice.”

Pim rolled his eyes, lifting his hands in defence. “Alright, alright, I’m going.”

Elora watched Pim disappear out the door and stepped slowly beside Tom, taking a cheese plate from the table behind him. “It must be hard to work along such dimwits as us. How do you even stand it?” she said, making doe eyes at him.

A hint of a smile appeared in his otherwise annoyed face. “Who says I do?”

“Well, try not to go crazy too soon, alright?” She patted his shoulder, and headed upstairs. 

 

She eyed the main hall, mindlessly twisting the hem of her apron in her hands, looking to see whether Solas had already arrived.

Dorian was sitting next to Bull, gossiping about an outrageous staff wielding technique he’d seen on their travels, as he filled his glass to the brim with spiced wine, Varric eyeing him with amusement. 

The Inquisitor came next and sat beside Bull, looking more sombre than usual. She lifted a single piece of turnip onto her plate, and stared into space.

“Hey, leave some for the rest of us, Boss,” Bull chuckled and stuck his knife into half a nug, dipping, nay, drowning it in honey sauce.

The Inquisitor didn’t look up, although a corner of her mouth lifted into a half smile as she picked at the vegetable.

Solas was still nowhere to be seen. Elora left the hall, thinking that he’d probably show up only for dessert.

But he didn’t.

The rotunda remained empty; there was no trace of him the whole evening, nor the next.

Days passed, and Elora was beginning to accept, although with a heavy heart, that he really wasn’t coming back. She even tried asking Pim for gossip on the subject, but that only made him ask uncomfortable questions she did not want to answer.

 

* * *

 

The sweet aroma of milk and honey lightly simmering on the stove made Elora feel a little drowsy. The feeling was not unwelcome, however, as she wondered if the drink would help bring back at least some pleasant dreams that had evaded her during the past week. Dagna had asked for it almost every day, it had to work.

Beside her, Lily was compiling an array of different oils and freshly picked herbs, trying to decipher the labelling on the bottles, sniffing the contents when finding the writing illegible. Finally, after apparently getting all the right ingredients, she combined the oils and herbs in a mortar and started grinding.

“What are you doing?” Tom asked, peering over some notes.

“Uh… I’m making a muscle rub for Lady Inquisitor.” Lily said.

“A muscle rub for Lady Inquisitor?” Tom chuckled. “Will you be doing the rubbing too?”

Pim snickered, pitting dates on the floor, and Lily turned as red as a beet.

“What? I— n-no! It’s just healing oil for her aching leg! She said it’s been acting up after a recent battle,” she said, wide-eyed.

Tom glanced at the herbs she’d picked. “Royal elfroot for an aching leg?” He smirked and resumed reading his notes. “That’s interesting.”

“Yes, Miss Guillou had me make it all the time! She said it relaxed her muscles. A chevalier used to come over sometimes, and I think he liked it too, because it always ran out after he visited. Chevaliers must be so bruised.”

Tom and Pim exchanged mischievous glances.

Lily stopped crushing the herbs and stared at her handiwork. “Is… do you think this is a bad idea?”

“No, no, go ahead. I’m interested to see what comes of it.” Tom looked way too amused for Elora’s liking.

“How do you know about her leg, Lily? Have you been eavesdropping again?” Pim asked.

“Of course not!” Lily started grinding the herbs a little more furiously. “We’ve been talking a lot since I started making her breakfast. She is always so kind to me and… She’s been so sad since she returned, I just wanted to make her something nice.”

Pim gasped. “You’re our source on the inside now, Lily! You have to report everything she tells you! This is perfect!”

Lily looked offended by the request. “Of course not! That would be inappropriate!”

While Lily and Pim quibbled on about the possibilities of gossip transfer, Elora poured the warm honey milk into a teapot. She felt Tom walk behind her.

“You’ve been oddly quiet the past few days, everything alright?” he asked in a low voice.

She turned, and saw what seemed like a hint of genuine worry in Tom’s eyes, a striking contrast to his usual smugness.

“Oh, I have? Just tired I guess.”

“I’d guess so too, you look like you haven’t slept in a year.”

Elora couldn’t supress the snort. “ _I_ look like I haven’t slept in a year?” She jabbed his chest with her finger. “Look who’s talking! When’s the last time _you_ slept then? Last century?”

“That’s not important right now.” Tom said. “And don’t worry about the dishes today, just get some rest, alright?” He coughed uncomfortably. “Wouldn’t want your productivity to suffer now, would we.”

“I guess... I’ll think about it.”

She turned around quickly and took the teapot upstairs.

As she pushed the heavy undercroft door, she was greeted by a breeze of fresh air, a pleasant change to the smell of turnip stew that had taken over the main hall. It wasn’t that she didn’t like turnips, but it smelled a bit like someone had just thrown them into a fire. The strange case of Pim’s lost turnips crossed her mind, but she figured it was probably another one of his pranks, although it wasn’t really his style.

She closed the door behind her and stepped further into the undercroft, hearing only the gentle rumble of the waterfall. The sun was getting low, shedding only a little light into the room, making the large icicles glisten with an orange glow. She held the teapot tighter as she went forward, the few lit torches doing little to drive back the impending twilight.

“Dagna?” Her voice echoed between the rocky walls, but received no reply.

She walked further into the room. “Dagna?” she called again.

“Dagna is not here at the moment,” a familiar voice rang from the crafting bench, which sent a jolt though her stomach. It couldn’t be, it wasn’t possible, only a trick of her mind, she thought. She inspected the distant silhouette and stepped closer.

Hunched on the bench sat a male figure with a familiar bald head and a pair of pointed ears, sewing something with his back to the room.

It was Solas, there was no doubt in her mind. All the worry that had gnawed at her heart, gave way to joy. The torchlight dancing on his back made it painfully obvious his skin was bare, illuminating the slight shifting of his muscles as he moved his arm. He seemed to be in a rather good shape.

She kept standing there, squeezing the pot of milk. Setting it on the table for Dagna and leaving without a word seemed like the most rational idea, but... She couldn’t make herself walk away, her feet just wouldn’t obey, not now, not yet.

Heart hammering in her chest, she approached him.

“H-hello, sorry for disturbing, but… do you know when Dagna will return? I brought the honey milk she asked.”

Solas looked back from his handiwork and smiled, as he seemed to recognise her. “Please, do not apologise. Dagna went outside for a moment, I am sure she will return shortly.”

“Oh... I guess I’ll just leave this here then.” She laid the pot on a little stand next to him. A faint smell of herbs hung in the air. She glanced at the crafting table, which was full of sewing supplies; different colored threads and an array of needles. On the nearest corner was a neatly folded pile of clothes and a fur pelt. She could spot long tears in the fabric he had unsuccessfully tried to sew back together.

She nodded towards the clothes. “Do you need any help with the sewing?”

“I… No. I believe they are beyond repair,” he said with a hint of embarrassment, not looking up from the sweater, as he stitched its sleeve at a steady pace. Elora noticed it was the sweater he’d usually been wearing around Skyhold.

“Oh, I’m sorry. They look really nice. Are they from… Tevinter?”

It was a wild guess, she had little idea what people in Tevinter wore. She’d seen plenty of Dorian’s garbs, sure, but he could’ve been an eccentric at best.

“No, they were a gift from the Inquisitor, which I managed to rip in our last battle,” he said with an oddly shaky voice. “I thought I would at least _try_ to fix them.”  
  
She could’ve sworn the tips of his ears turned pink, but it was hard to tell in that light.

The reality of him not having a shirt on was getting more and more distracting. As much as she tried to fight it, her eyes had involuntarily darted to his chest several times mid-speech, which she was pretty sure he’d noticed. She couldn’t help it, though, the image of the well built elf huddled on a bench, sewing a sweater, brows furrowed in concentration, was incredibly endearing.

Suddenly he winced, letting out a low grunt as he seemed to have pricked his finger with the needle. She smiled in spite herself. He could just ask someone else to do it…

“May I ask… why are you sewing your sweater?”

“It has a rip,” Solas said, eyes fixed on the stitching.

“I meant… why are you doing it yourself? Don’t trust us servants with your clothes?”

“I mean no offence, but these garments need to last a long time. It is best I care for them myself,” he said, voice soft, but bleak. “Besides, I find the needlework relaxing, it helps me think. Just as painting, I suppose,” he added, snapping the thread with one sharp pull.

He stood up and put the sweater on, inspecting the stitching on his shoulders. It looked awful, the stitches were uneven and too long, but he seemed pleased nonetheless. All this adding to his bizarre charm.

Their eyes met. And it was then she noticed how unhappy he really looked, the soul-crushing sadness in his eyes making her stomach drop. Had something happened while he was away?

“Is everything alright?” she asked, half-whispering, not really daring to ask a question this personal.

“Everything is as well as it is ever going to be.” Solas started wringing his hands and looked down. “I lost a friend recently. I am slowly coming to terms with it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Elora unthinkingly stepped forward and hugged him, squeezing him into her as if he’d float away if she didn’t.

Solas, although hesitant at first, closed his hands around her in turn. She was suddenly very aware of being in his embrace. The smell of fresh herbs was intense, but pleasant, soothing even. It reminded her of the little petals the orphanage caretaker used to put under their pillows to help them sleep better. His sweater felt soft against her cheek; she hadn’t expected to feel this comfortable in his arms.  
  
“It’s... It’s okay to feel lost for a while,” she said, voice muffled by his chest.

She let go and took a step back, feeling the chill of the breeze where his body had warmed her. Color rose from her cheeks to her ears. “I... Can I get you something to eat? Or drink?”

“No, I am not hungry.” His gaze shifted to the pot of milk. “Although... Do you suppose there is more milk in there than Dagna needs?”

“Why? Would you like some?”

He gazed at the pot thoughtfully, and after a moment of consideration, decided, “Yes.”

“I don’t think Dagna would mind,” she said and filled a little porcelain mug with the sweet beverage. “You’re lucky, it’s still warm,” she said, as she handed it to him, trembling a little. Their fingers brushed slightly, which made her heart beat a little faster.

He sat back down and took a sip. “Ah yes, it is as relaxing as I expected,” he said, as a ghost of a smile spread on his face.

The sight warmed her heart. “If...if you ever need to talk, I’m here,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “If it’s any help, keeping myself busy worked best for me in times of mourning. It might not work for everyone, but... I just...wanted to let you know.”

“Thank you.” He took another sip. “I believe I will take up Dorian’s offer for a round of Diamondback.”

“Diamondback? Does he wish to parade around Skyhold naked?” She became alarmed at her own words, for she wasn’t sure if she was supposed to know that. Pim had described Blackwall’s defeat in vivid detail, but maybe it was supposed to be a secret? She eyed Solas nervously.

“Ah, I see my reputation precedes me.” His gaze suddenly became thoughtful, perhaps even a little intense. He didn’t break eye contact. “I see the servants in Skyhold are very... well informed.”

“I, uh…”

He chuckled, to her surprise. “There is no harm in a little information.“

“Well, I can only hope Dorian wins then.”

She couldn’t believe she just said it out loud. She also couldn’t believe she had the audacity to picture the result in her mind. While standing right in front of him. She was grateful for the dim lighting, for she was sure her face had turned the shade of bloodstone.

Solas didn’t seem to be offended, though. He was oddly thoughtful instead. “You mentioned you had been grieving. I hope you do not mind me asking, what happened?”

The question took her by surprise.

“I worked in the Singing Maiden, in Haven. I was the only one who... got out.”

Flashes of memory brought her a few images of that fateful night, the confusion, the terror, the dragon, the flames, the eventual realization...

“I am sorry.”

“I sometimes think, that maybe, maybe there was something I could’ve done,“ she mumbled on. “If I’d told them to follow me to the chantry, dragged them, if necessary, maybe—“ she sighed. “I never even got the chance to tell them how much they meant to me. I guess I learned that…” she glanced at him, “you should always let people know when you care about them… Never know what might happen tomorrow,” she said, looking him deliberately in the eyes.

It was the golden advice she never followed herself; never had, never would.

Solas looked down to his lap, suddenly serious, lost in his thoughts.

There was a sound of the undercroft door opening, followed by little fast footsteps.

“Sorry I took so long,” Dagna said, slightly breathless. She handed a small trinket to Solas. “There, I fixed it. Well, mostly… it’s in one piece again, buuut… it doesn’t function anymore. You can just leave it here, I could probably recycle it.”

Solas clutched the trinket, staring at it. “No, I would rather hold on to it,” he said, a rather wistful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His expression turned serious again as he seemed to realize something. “I– Excuse me, I need to take care of something,” he said, and stormed out of the room.

Elora let out a breath. The smell of herbs still lingered around the workbench.

“Huh, I wonder if I’d be so attached to my amulets too if they were from the Inquisitor,” Dagna said as she gazed after him. “Oh, and Elora, thanks for the honey milk! And sorry you had to wait so long. You could’ve just left it here.”

She tried to keep cool, but the events of the evening and the memories of Haven started to get to her.

“It was no trouble, good night,” she said, and returned to the kitchen.

She felt a confusing mix of happiness and heartache. Being around Solas had always brought her joy, the mere memory of the feel of his embrace gave her butterflies, but the sorrow seemed to be winning, clutching her heart in its cold grasp.

Her mind didn’t stop bombarding her with memories of Haven, her lost friends, the life that might’ve been. It had been the first place she’d started to feel at home in since departing from the alienage all those years ago.

 

When she got back to the kitchen, Donatien had Pim cornered against the wall.

“Did you put the turnips into the fireplace? Tell me!” Donatien yelled as he gripped the front of Pim’s shirt.

“N-no, Messere, I-I don’t know who took them!” Pim was shaking under Donatien’s bearish frame.

“Liar!” Donatien barked. “Why would somebody steal our turnips?! This smells exactly like the horseplay you’d be involved with!”

“I didn’t do it, Messere, I swear!” Pim squeaked.

“Have you ANY idea how much bowing and explaining I had to do for those darn highborns?” He proceeded to impersonate himself with a high-pitched mocking sound, “‘Oh I am terribly sorry for your inconvenience, Ser’, ‘no, the smell is not coming from my kitchens, Ser’, ‘no, this is not a new recipe, Ser’.”

Donatien eyed the shuddering elf with distain and let go of him with a final shove against the wall. He turned around to eye everyone else in the room, face red from rage. “If I EVER find out who put the turnips into the fireplace…” he growled as he took slow steps in the midst of the servants, “I will personally feed them to the meat grinder!” he said and stomped out of the door.

Pim whistled as he straightened himself. “So that’s where my turnips went! Good prank, though, I should applaud whoever did it! If only I’d gotten the idea first!” he exclaimed, hands on his hips.

Tom shook his head. “I know you try to be tough, but be careful around Donatien, I’m not kidding.”

Tom’s face dropped as soon as their eyes met. She hadn’t exactly been trying to hide her pain.

He walked beside her. “I told you you don’t have to worry about cleaning today, go have some rest,” he said, half-whispering.

“No, it’s fine.” She said, eyeing the kitchen, looking for a distraction.

 

Most people had already left for the night. It was only her scrubbing the pots and Tom brining chicken. The two of them alone in the kitchen in the late evenings had become a rather common occurrence.

“What are you doing? Everyone’s already had their dinner,” she said.

“It’s for tomorrow.” Tom answered, not looking up from the pot.

“Is it for your _favourite customer_?” she teased.

Tom didn’t reply, but he was probably smirking.

“Can’t you refuse? That man is eating better food than the Inquisitor for Maker’s sake!”

“The Inquisitor isn’t hard to please. Sometimes I feel like she must’ve been feeding on acorns back with her clan; the stuff I’ve seen her eat... Anyhow, the financial backing from Fereldans requires us to... pamper them.”

“I suppose... but make sure you get some rest yourself. Look at you, you don’t even have the energy to scheme with his meal.” Elora said, as she patted the last of her pots dry.

“Don’t wait up,” he said, still focused on the chicken.

 

When most of them had gathered in their sleeping quarters, huddled comfortably in their bedrolls, Lily was sighing happily on a bedroll next to Elora, mulling over how happy Lady Lavellan had been that evening.

“I wonder if it had anything to do with the visit of Messere Solas. I saw him come out of her room right before I went in,” Lily said.

“Huh, are you sure it was Solas? Why would he go to the Inquisitor’s quarters?” Elora wondered. It didn’t really make much sense to her.

“Why do you care so much what he does?” Pim asked, a sly smile creeping to his lips when she stuttered.

Lily ignored their exchange and continued with her musings. “She was so happy... I didn’t even know if I should give her the muscle rub... but I did... and she... loved it! She even... she hugged me!” Lily said, her voice breaking, eyes getting slightly watery. “I can’t believe how kind she is.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Ah...I’m sorry. I’m just not... used to it. Makes me wonder what took me so long to leave Miss Guillou. I guess... I guess I thought they were all like her.”

Elora gave her a smile, which Lily returned. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters,” she said, and rested her head on her pillow, imagining what it would feel to work for someone like that Guillou lady.

Her thoughts kept drifting back to her earlier exchange with Solas, as she tried to relive every moment in her mind. Eventually she fell asleep, hugging her pillow.

That night her dreams were unusually vivid, with a big six-eyed wolf looming in the distance.


End file.
